


Cinnamon

by martyrpipedreams



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: M/M, Memories, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:53:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25905394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martyrpipedreams/pseuds/martyrpipedreams
Summary: Grey - Sidestep - looks back to the past after seeing Ortega again and well... It may do more harm than good.
Relationships: Ortega/Sidestep (Fallen Hero)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Cinnamon

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first FH:R fan writing so please forgive me if it's trash. 
> 
> Also, typos are my trademark apparently, sorry if it becomes unintelligible at some point, its really late at night.

Grey wondered just how long he could sit here in this old diner booth, a piping hot cup of coffee incased in his shaky hands as if the pin-prick of burning pain against his calloused palms could ground him. He had been here for the better part of two hours, eyes glued to the rippling surface of the liquid - afraid to make eye contact with anyone lest they really see him. A tired man with unkempt black hair and sickly pale skin - a mess really, he always had been

His thoughts were a murky swamp of negatives and self destructive assurances. Seeing Ricardo - Ortega, seeing Ortega, did nothing to calm the relentless storm either.

It had just raised questions.

How is he? He hates me, doesn't he? What if he doesn't? Does he still think of me? 

Grey bit down on his tongue hard enough to taste blood, the metallic taste bringing him back to the here and now. He couldn't let himself get cold feet now just because he used to think that he could mean more than nothing to someone that meant the world to him.

Sighing, he dropped his head on to the table, the cold surface soothing the dull headache that was throbbing behind his closed eyelids. Around him, there was the usual hustle and bustle that accompanied diners in the city - the cheerful music that hummed over the radio, the clatter of dishes being carried back and forth from the kitchen to customers, the smell of cinnamon and breakfast. It was all familiar.

He used to come here with Ortega a long time ago. Before everything went to shit. Before he fucked up. Before Hollow Ground.

It was always early in the morning when they would come into the diner, bleary eyed but somehow content. Ortega had always said it was because he enjoyed having a quiet breakfast but by the way he tended to prattle on and on about any given topic made Grey think there might have been another reason for their early morning endeavors. He knew Grey hated the cameras that seemed to follow Ortega. Their flashing lights and bulky presence always had made him uncomfortable.

He'd always hated being seen. Ortega knew that, it wasn't like Grey tried especially hard to hide the way he would slink away from the press with shoulders hunched and his eyes on the ground.

Still though, Ortega never told him why it was he enjoyed coming so early in the morning. They would sit there, sometimes without a word, and eat, a sort of unspoken conversation happening in the silence between them. God knows the two of them had a lot to say.

There was once, in the winter, that Ortega had dragged him here against his will - Grey hated the snow but Ortega didn't care. The diner was warmer than usual, the heating cranked up high to combat the cold air the glass windows were bringing in. Ortega had guided him to a booth in the back of the room - the one he was sitting in right now - and forced him into his seat, ignoring every grumble and gripe Grey could manage between his chattering teeth.

"Stop whining, we do this all the time and a little snow isn't going to stop us," he'd chastised, like the diner visit had become a part of their schedule just as much as eating had - though Grey often seemed to forget that too these days.

"Well," Grey said as he rubbed his hands together, "I wouldn't mind if you had just let me get ready first. I didn't even get to brush my hair."

"You never brush your hair." Fair enough. Grey just grumbled in response and took the cup of coffee the waitress gave him with a polite, tight lipped smile. Every time he came here he ordered the same thing; coffee. Ortega constantly badgered him to get more, to eat more, but Grey wasn't sure he could stomach a meal and a conversation this early in the morning.

The waitress took Ortega's order and then left, leaving the two of them in silence for a moment before the beginning of a smile found its way onto Ortega's face, "So. I heard from a little bird that you and Chen got into another fight."

"Is the bird's name Anathema," Grey questioned before taking a sip of coffee, his expression pinched. He hoped he wasn't about to get a lecture on teamwork. "And I would hardly call it a fight."

Ortega held up his hands, "I never rat out my sources. I just know." The waitress from before appeared, a plate in hand and a smile on her face. It was different from the one she gave Grey, no, this one wasn't forced. It was warm with those familiar flirtatious undertones and reached her cheeks, lighting up her pretty little face.

He should have been used to it by then - all the flirting that came with the package named Ricardo Ortega. He really was attractive after all. Yet, somehow, it still made his stomach knot up with jealously as he squeezed his mug a little too hard.

When the waitress walked away, Grey spoke up - even if he knew he shouldn't. "Do you like her?" Dumbass. There was a tinge of reluctancy in his words.

"Wha-" Ortega seemed floored for a moment, color brushing his cheeks as he searched for words. "No?"

Grey looked out the window and bit the inside of his cheek, feeling embarrassed. "Ok."

Ortega had laughed quietly at that, asked him if he was jealous. Truth be told, he probably was. There was no end to the turmoil in his head. Ortega wasn't and never had been, never will be, his. Simple.

Before Grey could delve too deeply into the destructive thoughts that accompanied him like an old friend, he stood, swaying dizzily for a moment. He was running on empty, stomach empty and head full. If Ortega were here he would frown knowingly, force him to sit down and shoot him a brown-eyed glare when Grey began to complain.

He sighed and sat a few bills down on the table. Ortega wasn't here though.

Not anymore.


End file.
